


Albatross

by Inforapoundd



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden, Light Angst, Love, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: Leaving the security of a lonely life, a young woman heads out into the universe in search of a colony of like-minded beings. The Mandalorian, a lone-wolf, intergalactic bounty hunter reluctantly finds himself drawn to her, challenging his resolve and way of life.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 24





	Albatross

Don’t look at anyone, don’t draw attention, just find a seat and wait for the man they call Greef Karga. 

The bar was a dingy little place but everything appeared to be in this armpit of a city. Moving further into the low lit, adobe-like building, the strange, unfamiliar sounds of foreign languages confused my ears. The place was fairly busy, smelled of something fermented and was filled with species I could not have ever imagined. Behind the murmur was a low repetitive beat with some high pitch, melodic whistle, I assumed was a style of ambient music. The feeling of panic, I continued to ignore, was settling at the bottom of my stomach, feeling cold and tasting sour. I had been in this place, this slum planet called Nevarro for less than an hour and I was already terrified I had made a grave error. 

I needed transport though. A way out and off and was told by the courier who had responded to my beacon, that this Mr. Karga was my best chance. Apparently, he was a businessman of sorts, well connected with access to ships.

The bag over my shoulder was weighed down with my parent’s life savings, and I could only hope a ride to a more habitable, civilized planet would not cost as much as my journey here. Having never had actual employment before, my chance at a life, survival even, depended on that ride. Everything was different now, and despite being surrounded by others, I felt more on my own than I had in all my years of isolation. 

Squeezing my duffel bag against my side, I approached the bar, choosing one of the stools, chancing that it was the safest place to wait and watch. Sliding in, I couldn’t help but make eye contact with the…… being beside me. Possibly some species of Verpine, his large deep red eyes were opaque making it impossible to tell where he was actually looking. 

Being raised alone by my parents, their years of tutoring, tales, and descriptions of other races, species, religions and civilizations, nothing could have prepared me for this. Knowing just did not compare to experiencing. My family had been the sole inhabitants on a remote planet, other than the plentiful species of animals, fish, and birds, insects big and small. Being born there, I had never been off or met another person, until today.

My father had been a soldier for the Galactic Empire. One of the last true machinists on the planet of Naboo, he had been called to fight with no option of refusal. Meeting my mother on the Force, she was an agricultural scientist but had been assigned to the Imperial Army in the field of research, working on some hushed bio-warfare program.

When my mother became pregnant with me, they made a run for it, taking a well stocked ship, and hiding on the little known planet Ithor. It had been a good life and reflecting on it now, I realized how hard they had worked, every day, preparing me for my future alone. They passed away within months of each other. Mom developed a sickness that caused great pain in her lungs and her blood to thin. When dad fell ill from a simple infection, he held on as long as he could for my sake. When he did finally succumb, it was devastating but a relief.

The first year had been manageable, passing the days, months by compulsively planting, preparing tinctures and restocking stores. By the third year alone, I wondered what the point of living was at all. Unfortunately for me, I had never learned to fly and the ship hadn't been operational since my parent’s arrival twenty-six years earlier. The thought of triggering the ship’s alert beacon consumed my mind for weeks. Part of me knows I flipped that switch just to catch a break from thinking about it any longer. It was the ultimate roll of the dice, not knowing who or what would respond. 

“Watch yourself!” a man’s voice called from further down on the bar. 

Snapping my head in that direction, I saw an armored man, face hidden by a helmet, his gloved hand pointing beyond me to my far side. Looking over, I jumped seeing a sharp, insectoid-like arm extending toward my side from the hard-shelled body of that same guy with the dark red eyes, sitting two stools away.

“Hey!” I barked, yanking my bag away from him and into my lap. 

The thing’s claw-like arm contracted back, and he turned toward me, the jagged pincers on his face oscillating, making a disgusting clicking sound. Why had I sounded that beacon?

Sliding off my stool, I backed away, glaring at the creature and rounded the half-moon shaped bar, taking a seat one over from the helmeted man. 

“Thanks,” I uttered as I shifted onto the stool but he gave no response.

The droid tending the bar noticed the commotion and glided over, swiveling his bucket head in my direction, waiting.

“Do you have Lomin?” I asked, knowing I would be more welcome to wait if there was a drink in front of me. 

“Credits first,” he blurted back and I assumed that was because of the type of patrons that frequented the place. 

Pulling a black sack out of the top of my duffel bag, I shook two five-credit chits into my hand, holding them out to the droid.

“On the bar,” the droid ordered.

Placing them down, I slid them forward.

“Only one,” the helmeted man spoke out, his voice crackling through some type of voice box. Still, he did not look in my direction. 

Glancing at the droid, I picked up one of the chits and returned it to my sack. Collecting the payment, the android glided away, returning quickly with a large cup of frothy amber-colored drink. Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed, my face twisting with revulsion. Taking a small sip, the taste was even worse. This was not the same ale we made at home. 

“Not what you expected?” the man asked, his head now titled down as if he was checking something on the floor. 

“Ahh, no. It's sweet. Different recipe, perhaps. I’m not from here.”

“No shit,” he said in an even voice and I thought his sarcasm could use some work. 

Looking over at him, I didn’t attempt to hide my unimpressed reaction.

“Just being in here, you don’t know, what you don’t even know.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I’m waiting for someone, so….”

Saying nothing further, the man sat as still as stone. He, too, seemed to be waiting. It hadn’t been a smoking hot day but warm enough that I imagined his heavy, dark metal armor must have been uncomfortable. With no beverage in front of him, I wondered why he wasn’t drinking something like everyone else in the place. What could that mean?

“Are you Greef Karga?”

That got his attention. Helmet swiveling in my direction, he looked like one of those droids with the spinning heads. 

“That is who you are here for?”

“So, you are not him,” bringing my drink to my lips, I took a sip, hoping the second taste wouldn’t be as bad. No luck, it was still vile. 

“What is your business with Karga?”

“Not your concern,” I replied, steadying my face, realizing I truly had no idea where I was or how much danger I was in. 

“You're right,” he said quietly. Placing his gloved hands onto the bar, he slid back off the stool, flicking his cape as to not get it caught. Passing behind me, he halted to a stop, “Keep that sack of credits hidden…carry a few in your pocket… in case.” Without another word, he carried on, walking stiffly out the door. 

A quarter of the drink was all I could manage but I was dehydrated after the long day of travel. Patrons had come and gone but from where I sat, it was hard to keep watch without blatantly turning around. No one else had attempted to talk to me and for that I was grateful. Still, there was no relaxing. Every time I thought about leaving the bar and heading out into the streets, I gripped my bag a little tighter. 

A loud yelp cut through the low chatter and without thinking I turned to look. The sound of tin cups tumbling to the ground was followed by a thud as a dark-skinned man with a black mustache slammed the head of a guy sitting across the booth from him down onto the table. The young guy’s cheek was pinned and he held his hands up as if to signal surrender. Scanning the room, the others ignored the display, telling me that people getting roughed up was either a regular occurrence or the man doing the roughing was too dangerous to get caught looking at. 

“Please!” the guy cried, his hands trembling, the older man gazing down, expressionless, as if used to inflicting this kind of torment. “Please Greef! I’ll get the payment, I swear!”

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, I was out of there. Hugging my bag like a blankie, I pushed off the stool, leaving my putrid drink and headed for the exit. Keeping a calm pace, the last thing I needed was to draw attention. If that was Greef Karga, I was not taking my chances that he would listen to the story of a twenty-something-year-old orphan, looking for transport to a place where she might find work on a farm. I had heard about human trafficking and forced servitude, the sex trade and I was not sticking around, regardless if that guy had one ship or a hundred.

Out into the dusty street, I re-positioned my bag over my shoulder and walked further into the industrial shit hole. Despite blending into the crowded street, my vulnerability felt glaring and my fear was taking hold. 

The cargo pilot had told me about a place that offered space to those passing through. Trudging on, I looked for the large structure built with blue containers with a black circle painted on the door. I could feel the eyes of those around me, tracking my movements, even stepping into my path to perhaps test my response. Biting the tip of my tongue, I scowled and filled my lungs with air, grateful, I was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved top. 

There it was! The blue rusty building that stood a little higher than the metal and stone shacks on either side. The place looked like it had suffered a thousand sand storms but the black blotch on the hatch style door did make my feet move a little faster. 

“Whatever you are looking for, it’s not in there.” A man’s voice came from behind. Not wanting to mix further with the locals, I ignored it and kept walking.”

“Stop,” it called out with authority and my elbow was tugged back. Snatching my arm away, I spun, ready to plant my knee into a groin. 

Lowering his hand to his side, the helmeted man stood before me like he had been dropped out of the sky. Had he been following me this whole time? Had he waited outside the bar?

“What do you want?”

“I tried minding my own business but….you shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not for lodging.”

Saying nothing, I tightened my grip on my bag.

“Why?” 

“There are beds but…they’re not for sleeping.”

“Oh,” my head shot back. “Okay.” Glancing down at the ground between us, I bit the end of my tongue, fearing my chin might start to tremble. This was bad. Clearing my throat, I looked back up, picking the black cross at the center of his helmet to focus on. “Where would one go if they were looking for transport?”

“Transport? Is that why you were looking for Karga?”

Nodding, I cleared my throat again, realizing I was the quintessential babe in the woods. 

The man said nothing, but he seemed to look beyond my shoulder, his large helmet subtly shaking as if answering my question was a hassle. He may have only been the second person I had ever met but I could tell he was cursing himself for stopping me. 

“Do you have a ship?” I asked, not giving him the chance to blow me off. “I need to get somewhere that I can find for work.”

Looking back down at me, he seemed to just stare. What was taking him so long to answer? It was painful! I hadn’t pestered him, he was the one who stopped me, followed me through the streets. Despite that and the large weapon on his back, I wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, I was the last person to be able to accurately gauge one’s character by their appearance or body language but his warnings, his reluctant advice, none of it felt like a ploy. 

“Look, I am a farmer. I’m fairly handy and I’m quiet. I have a little money and I can sleep in a ball on the floor. Do you have a ship with room for me? I’m hoping to make it to Dantoonie or somewhere there are colonies that grow food.”

“Two hundred and fifty credits and I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“Two hundred and fifty?” my brows shot high with surprise. “Okay.” What choice did I have? 

Swiftly turning, he began to walk away; springing forward, I rushed to keep up. 

“Can I ask a question?”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he carried on, stalking through the streets, a couple of side allies, arriving at a fenced yard filled with, what I could see, was a dozen or so ships. 

“Listen,” he spun around, standing still as a wall and I lurched to a stop to avoid running into him. “You just agreed to pay double what anyone would pay for travel. I don’t know who you are, or where you are from, but you are going to bring heat down on yourself and me. We will leave in a couple of hours. Until then, get in and stay quiet. Keep your money hidden. No talking to anyone or walking around looking like...” lifting his gloved hand, he flicked his orange-tipped fingers at me…“that.”

Eyes flashing wide, I froze, watching him turn and duck through a cut out in the wire fence, dipping carefully to clear the handle of his gun. Following behind, I stopped myself from asking any one of the dozen questions bouncing around in my head. From what I could tell, this conversation alliterate, gun-toting, armored, stiff walking, helmet-wearing man was my only hope. I was not going to piss him off any more than I apparently already had.


End file.
